The Right Side of the Tracks
by OrangeLaces
Summary: Jane Alster is a Soc who doesn't understand the lines between class, but finds herself being a part of the prejudice anyway. Then her world starts to get confusing when her brother's friend Bob is killed by a greaser. Sequel to "Disturbing the Peace"


**Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders.**

"Discussion groups within your tables! Over here at this table, you'll discuss passage one; here, passage 2; over there-"

Mrs. Sheraton barked out the passage each table would be discussing and I laid my head in my arms, groaning inwardly. My discussion table was like a natural disaster; the disagreements sprang up so naturally, and then the arguments struck, disastrously.

"So, we're supposed to be discussing this passage." Ponyboy pointed at our textbook.

"Oh, screw it. What is the point of these discussion groups?" I spat out.

Alice Kevelle looked at me, surprised. I was usually the peace maker in our riot-prone group. It was her and Jared that liked to play the natural disaster.

Jared Ramsay raised his eyebrows at me and whistled, "Oh look! Something that _actually makes sense_ coming out of the mouth of this little Socy over here. Amazing, huh, Curtis?"

Ponyboy smiled almost imperceptibly but stayed out of it. I'd noticed that he was like that. I'd shared my table in English class with him, Jared and Alice all year; in all that time, I'd barely heard him say a word. He and Jared were pretty tight, but I knew that they both had their real close friends outside of school. Most of the time, I'd see Ponyboy with Johnny Cade and Two Bit Matthews, along with a couple other tough-looking greasers he seemed to consider his gang. I guessed it was a lot like Melanie and me. With her two years older than me, I barely saw her at school, but outside of school, we were inseparable. Even though, considering her character, sometimes I didn't know why.

"Oh, shut up, hood!" I spat at Jared. I immediately regretted it. As much as I hated being called a Soc, I knew it was no reason to call people greasers or hoods. I saw Ponyboy's face darken and I felt even worse; Ponyboy was a nice kid, even if he was a greaser.

Alice looked at me, "Jane, what is wrong with you? I'm that one that's supposed to fight with the royal jerk over here." She paused, "But good one anyway. He's definitely a hood."

"And I guess that makes you the royal bitch, huh?" Jared shot at Alice.

I had to agree with Jared there. He may have been a royal jerk, but Alice was also a bitch. Jared also hated her just because she was a social, like me. Hence the natural disaster that was in constant occurrence at our table. The argument escalated.

I interrupted Alice's retort, "Look, just stop it. Really." I turned to Jared. "I'm sorry I called you a hood. I didn't mean it. It's just that my parents left for Chicago this morning and I'm afraid my brother Mark is going to pull some stunt now that they're gone and – oh never mind. The point is I'm sorry, ok?" I turned to our textbook. "Now let's get on with this disc-"

"Oh, is this the part where I'm supposed to say 'apology accepted' just because you're some snotty, rich kid with problems that are laughable?" Jared's words cut across me like a whip, "Oh no! Your rich folks have gone of a honeymoon! What'll you do?! Big deal."

Alice's eyes widened as she opened her mouth with a retort, but for the first time ever, I beat her to it. Jared Ramsay had gone too far.

"Oh yeah? And you think just because you're some wannabe tough boy, you can go around insulting anyone that has more money than you? And yes, for your information, this _is_ the part where you say 'apology accepted'. But, oh! I forgot! Your mother never taught you the manners to do that. Yes, Ramsay, you're right. Opposed to your brainless problems, mine are laughable."

"Opposed to my problems?" Jared leaned into the table and some of his carefully greased, black hair fell over his face. "What do you know about my problems? You drive a blue mustang –"

"That's Melanie's –"

"-You go home, where you have your own room on the second floor, with a big, pink bed –"

"It is NOT pink –"

"- and you go on trips to see your grandma every year. No, I can't say you'd know anything about my problems."

"Well, guess what?" I glared at him and pushed my hair out of my face. "I don't want to know about your problems, so no worries on your end. You can just –"

"You know what?" Jared glared right back at me. "You're my problem. You and all your Socy friends are one giant, mother-fuckin problem and –"

"Don't you swear at me, you bast-"

"Jared Ramsay and Jane Alster! Enough!" Mrs. Sheraton's voice made me freeze.

I suddenly realized the whole class was staring at my table. I cringed. Had we been yelling? Had _I_ been yelling? No, it must have just been Jared. I never got into this situation. I was a good kid. I did my homework. I went to church on Sundays. I visited my grandma every year (Curse Jared Ramsay! How did he know that anyway?) I took care of my younger brother.

But, apparently, Mrs. Sheraton didn't know any of that or didn't care, because I still ended up in detention.

I sat at my own table, looking at the clock. There were about eight other people in the room, but there was no one I regularly associated with. To tell the truth, most of them were greasers. When I'd walked in, Mr. Miller had been so surprised, he'd asked me point-blank what I was doing there.

As I'd tried to explain the major misunderstanding Mrs. Sheraton and I had had, Jared Ramsay came up from behind and interrupted me, "She called me a bastard in English class."

Mr. Miller's eyebrows raised, and I heard laughter ripple across the other students in detention.

I turned around and hissed at Jared, "And I'll do it again if you don't shut up."

He just laughed, "No problem, honey."

Honey? _Honey?!_ I opened my mouth to yell at him when I caught Mr. Miller looking at me. I quickly turned the retort into a yawn and went to find a desk.

Now, I had spent the last two hours in the same desk, listening to Jared and Two Bit talking behind me. I'd never seen them hang around together, but they were chatting like they'd known each other their whole lives. They both knew Ponyboy, and they were both greasers; that was all they needed to have in common to spend all of detention talking. Mr. Miller didn't even seem to care. I had a growing suspicion that he was enjoying their conversation.

It had started with Jared telling Two Bit how he had gotten into detention, while I sat there pretending to deaf and, most importantly, aloof.

When Jared had mercifully finished, Two Bit laughed and said, "So Mrs. Sheraton still does those discussion groups? I loved those. They were the best part of my school day. Ye know, Mrs. Sheraton has so many of those so she can write to her boyfriend. I asked her once if I could be part of _her_ discussion group and give her some good pointers for the love letters. She didn't take that too well."

I digested this information as Two Bit cracked himself up. What he said was probably true. I was in detention because my _married_ teacher needed to write love letters!

I felt eyes on the back of my head and heard Two Bit saying, "It was her? What'd you say her name was?"

"Jane Alster." Jared replied.

I stopped playing deaf and turned around. "Please you guys. Have a little respect. I can hear you, you know."

But they weren't paying attention to what I was saying. Two Bit's eyes were locked on my face and he suddenly grinned in recognition.

"You're the gas station girl!"

Oh crap, I thought. Predictably, Jared wanted to know the story. Two Bit colorfully narrated the whole episode. It had all been Melanie's fault. She had let the car run out of gas, so we'd had to push it to the DX. It'd happened almost a year ago but that didn't make it any less funny for Jared Ramsay and Two Bit Matthews. Mr. Miller even started to smile, although his eyes were on his book. Conniving sneak!

I sat facing the clock, absolutely refusing to acknowledge that a very embarrassing story was being told about me, when Jared changed the subject. "So how'd you get into detention, Two Bit?"

"Well, Miss Lindsay and I interpreted a painting differently. I had nothing against her interpretation but for some reason she didn't like mine. I mean, isn't interpreting about accepting different opinions?"

"Yeah, I guess." I could hear the smile in Jared's voice. "So what was your terrible interpretation?"

"So, we're all looking at this picture that was painted….. uh, sometime back in history."

Talk about vague.

"So it's this girl, ye see, running through a field. And she's got her head thrown back like a lunatic and she's all smiling. Miss Lindsay said the painting depicted a girl enjoying nature. I thought she looked either drunk or stoned, but anyway, then Miss Lindsay said the girl was in a state of euphoria. How do I know what the hell the state of euphoria is? So I asked Miss Lindsay if the state of euphoria had anything in common with the state of idiocy."

At this point, I had to smile. Jared started cracking up. Mr. Miller grabbed a tissue and pretended to be having a coughing fit; he was a terrible actor.

Two Bit continued. "She never answered my question. She just told me I had earned myself a detention. Come to think of it, detentions are just about the only thing I earn – anyway, I still don't know what the hell a euphoria is."

Mr. Miller looked up at the clock and, between coughing fits, told us that we were free to leave. I picked up my bag. Behind me, Jared and Two Bit were whooping.

"Ye need a ride?" Two Bit asked Jared.

"Yeah, thanks."

"No problemo!" Two Bit said, adopting a strange accent. Then he turned to me. "D'you need a ride?"

I almost gaped. Jared looked pretty amused by this event. I figured if I went with them, he'd take it as an opportunity to torture me. Plus, they were greasers. I didn't even want to think about what Mark would do if I came home with them.

"Nah. That's ok."

"Good choice. You can't be too careful with us greasers. See ye around."

Before I could answer him, he had walked out the door with Jared. I suddenly felt ashamed. I wondered for the millionth time what it was that made us and greasers hate each other.

I found a payphone and called Melanie. Not long after, her blue mustang pulled up in front of the school. I hopped in.

"Ugh. I am never getting into detention again. Talk about humiliation galore!"

Melanie looked at me sideways, then looked away quickly.

"What?" I demanded.

"You know, you have good luck for bad days." Melanie stated.

"Good luck for bad days!?" I said incredulously, "What the heck is that supposed to mean? You talk like you're three!"

Melanie glared at me and then looked back at the road, just in time to keep us from running up a sidewalk. We swerved.

"And you're a horrible driver."

Melanie huffed, "What I _meant_ is that when you have a bad day, like today, not just one thing goes wrong. Everything goes wrong."

"Remind me how this ties in with the good luck."

Melanie ignored me, "See, it looks like Mark has decided to pull his stunt. He's having a party or something at your house."

"I don't know about you Melanie, but I'm still not seeing the good luck part!"

"Neither am I." Melanie said. I rolled my eyes.

**This story ties in with my story "Disturbing the Peace". So if you liked this, you'll probably like that one too. All reviews appreciated.**


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